


Carmina Burana

by Lunasong365



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Classical Music, Gen, Historical References, Middle Ages, Monks, carmina burana
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-08-08 19:19:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7769941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunasong365/pseuds/Lunasong365
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Carmina Burana</i> has been described as: Profane. Sensual. Irreverent. Satirical of religion.</p><p>So why was its source text discovered in a monastery?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carmina Burana

**Author's Note:**

> When I found out that the text upon which _Carmina Burana_ , a decidedly non-religious cantata, was discovered in a monastery under mysterious circumstances, I just knew that Crowley and Aziraphale had to have been involved.
> 
> Erzira’s monk name is from the German edition of _Good Omens_.

_Sometime in the 13 th century, Bavaria_

 

The boy meandered through the dusty shadows of the library, his uncertain passage lit only by a solitary taper. “Brother Erzira? Brother Erzira? Are you in here? There’s someone come to the abbey asking for you!”

Aziraphale sighed. He despised interruptions. He closed the codex he’d been reviewing and clasped its straps, then called, “Lad, over here!” He hastily touched the wick of his own spent candle, which flared, then guttered, casting weird shadows over the extensive collection of codices in the monastery library. He’d been studying so long the candle had extinguished itself. It hadn’t really bothered the angel, who was used to long nights and had other means of providing illumination.

Indeed, the library’s compilation of knowledge was one of the reasons he’d come to [Benediktbeuern Abbey](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Benediktbeuern_Abbey). The monastery was renowned through civilized Europe as a center for learning and research, and one of the angel’s earthly duties was apprising just how much the humans had learned. Aziraphale gently lifted the volume from the bookstand and returned it to lay flat on its shelf as the sleepy-looking child approached.

“Ah, Rab, dear boy. I’m sorry you had to get up at such a late hour to find me. I must have dozed off; my candle burnt out! Such bad weather out, too! Well, I won’t keep the gentleman waiting. Did he give his name?”

“I believe he said Herr Kroh, my brother. Came in dripping great puddles, he did! Brother Bernald has seated him in the refectory before the fire. Philipp has taken his horse to the stables; the blackest steed you ever did see!” Now that Rab seemed fully awake, there was no stopping him. “He seems to be a wealthy nobleman, my brother. With the abbot gone, Brother Bernald has notified Brother Hugo of our visitor.”

Aziraphale grimaced. From the boy’s description, he already had a pretty good idea of his caller’s identity. In the two hundred years since they’d devised the Arrangement, he hadn’t seen Crowley that often. But he’d made assumptions about the location of the demon’s whereabouts by the wake of chaos he always seemed to leave in his path. Just when Aziraphale had thought the civilizing aspects of Christianity might be catching on in Europe, the Church had schismed and the Crusades had begun. His small corner of the world really hadn’t been the same since. _Trust Crowley to find a way to make the worship of God turn people against each other._  

The boy continued to natter, but shivered from the chilly dankness, and drew his threadbare blanket more tightly around his skinny torso. Aziraphale surreptitiously darned some of the larger moth holes as they continued up the drafty cloisters toward the entrance to the complex.

As Aziraphale entered the refectory, he spotted a hooded figure collapsed in a chair in front of the hearth. Brother Bernald glanced up from collecting a well-devoured trencher of bread and broth, and hurried over to meet him.

“He won’t talk to anyone but you,” the monk reported. “Brother Hugo’s already tried, and was somewhat rudely dismissed. Do you know this man?”

Aziraphale crouched before the chair and looked up into Crowley’s eyes. 

The demon winked at him.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes heavenward. “I’ll vouch for him, Brother Bernald. Please give my apologies to Brother Hugo for my… er… _acquaintance’s_ discourtesy. I’m sure it’s merely a result of his long journey through poor weather.”

To Crowley he muttered, “As an abbey, we’re obliged to provide shelter to anyone who asks. But only for one night!” The richly-dressed man in the chair smirked.

“Is that any way to greet an old friend?”

Aziraphale drew his breath in sharply and quickly glanced toward Bernald. The other monk appeared to be poking at the fire and maybe hadn’t heard. The flames hissed merrily and sparked.

“Follow me, please, _sir,_ and I’ll show you to your quarters.” Aziraphale rose to his feet and beckoned to Crowley. The latter stood and snapped his fingers. Aziraphale turned, questioning.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Crowley asked, gesturing toward the oversized satchel tossed at the side of the chair on the stone floor. Aziraphale snorted, then stepped forward to grab the bag. He awkwardly clumped down the cloister lugging the extremely large bag while the demon glided behind him.

 

**

 

The angel hefted the bag onto a bench in the guesthouse, where it immediately shrank to about a third of its size. Aziraphale turned and glared incriminatingly at Crowley.

“What? What can I say? I enjoy seeing you inconvenienced. By the way, that haircut doesn’t suit you.” Aziraphale ran a hand over his tonsure and frowned. “Now,“ Crowley added, tilting his head toward the ornately-carved crucifix on the wall, “if you don’t mind…”

As Aziraphale lifted the image to remove it from its hanger, Crowley continued, “Don’t get me wrong; you know I liked that guy. It’s just not how I choose to remember him.” He shrugged out of his cloak and smoothed his long dark hair, symbol of his nobility, in a small hand mirror retrieved from the satchel. “Now… besides the late hour, which I know makes no difference to you, and my rudeness toward your superior, which makes no difference to me and  _probably_  not to you, and  _maybe_ the little joke with the bag… what’s got you all in a snit?”

Aziraphale sat down with a sigh. “It’s the Crusades. I can’t believe they’re still going on – wave after wave of misguided peasant pilgrims and vindictive bloodthirsty knights travelling so far and for what? The honor of possessing a city? They starve along the way or fall ill; then once they get to the Holy Land they fight a native population who are reacting in much the same way! They all worship the same God and they’re equally zealous in their own ways. And now the crusaders even have _children_ up in arms! I was just so _sure_ you’d had a hand in setting them off. But now that you’re here,” he smiled wanly at Crowley, “truthfully, it doesn’t seem like your style.” He fidgeted with the hem of his scratchy homespun sleeve. 

Crowley continued to unpack luxury items from the bag. “If that’s an apology: accepted. You’re right. Wasn’t me. Humans will find any reason to disagree with each other and religion is one of the worst. That, and politics and money. Separately they’re bad enough, but combined… whoo-ee. Job security, and I don’t have to lift a finger, nor do I care to be involved. Are you sure it wasn’t _your_ side? Here,” he said as he removed a small cake of palm oil. “Try this on your hands.” 

Aziraphale decided not to reveal that he hadn’t heard from Heaven about the matter to Crowley who, after all, was still the Adversary despite the Arrangement. He gratefully rubbed his hands together and massaged the oil into his cuticles. The re-wrapped cake soon joined the other items on the table. Wheel of cheese. Jewelry that glinted of bright metals and multi-hued gems. Soft woolen blanket. Wineskin and goblets. Chess set. Perfume vial with a cunning ceramic stopper. Exotic spices. More articles of clothing than Aziraphale thought possible for one man, in rich fabrics and colors, trimmed with brocade and lace. A fine pair of pointed leather shoes. An embroidered purse heavy with coins. “Ah! Here it is!” Crowley announced, removing a large oblong wrapped in oilskin. “I think you’ll like this. This is the reason I’ve come to see you.” 

As Crowley unwrapped the package, he explained, “It’s a collection of songs and poetry by goliards – the vagabond entertainers who travel from town to town. Most of it’s in Latin. Look,” he said as he opened the folio, “it’s even got illustrations.” As Aziraphale peered at the open page, Crowley quickly added, “The duke who originally commissioned its compilation died and his successor didn’t view the volume as favorably. So I stole it, and couldn’t think of a better place to hide it than in my friend’s library. Hello, _friend_.” He grinned. 

Aziraphale flipped another page. “Crowley, I can’t keep this in a monastery library! It’s… it’s _profane!_   Drinking and gambling and other… um… _sensual_ pleasures! And the gross satire against the Church! I can’t allow it.” 

Crowley pouted. “But Aziraphale, he was going to burn it! You can’t let a book as beautiful as this be burnt! All the artists who contributed to it – their work destroyed in a flash? I know what you _really_ won’t allow,” he looked meaningfully at the angel, “the destruction of human ingenuity. By the way, what’s the deal with that guy who tried to interrogate me when I arrived? He seemed pretty interested in appraising just how much money I have and to which noble house I’m connected.” 

Aziraphale, who was skimming a particularly evocative poem, grimaced. “Brother Hugo. He’s not the abbot; he’s the prior. He’s in charge while the abbot is visiting the bishop at Augsburg. Truth is, he doesn’t like me much.” Aziraphale picked up the mirror and studied his face. _Plain. Boring. Non-descript._ Not at all like the glamorous Crowley, who had picked up a large jeweled livery collar to model and, glancing down, was checking himself out. “I think… he’ll try to use the fact that I know a wealthy man like you to try to get me to shake you down.” 

“Huh, imagine that.” Crowley chuckled as he watched Aziraphale flip open a new quire. “Corruption among the clergy. Well, I’m not too worried,” he added, not referring to Hugo at all, but rather Aziraphale’s enthrallment with the elegantly-scripted codex. “You may do what you want with the book. Now,” he said, as he placed the two brimming goblets on either side of the chess board and started to set up his side for Black, “can I interest you in a match?”

 

**

 

Aziraphale extinguished the last candle in the candelabrum and, leaving Crowley sprawled gracelessly on the bed clutching his blanket, picked up the codex and quietly exited the guesthouse. Matins had been hours ago and he was fairly certain he’d missed Lauds as well. Although he had a pallet in the monks’ dormitory, he rarely spent time there, preferring to frequent the library at all hours. However, his presence would certainly have been missed at the communal prayers. 

The weather had stopped spitting, but the night remained damp if rather muffled and still. The angel padded across the open square of the cloisters to the library, holding the volume close against his coarse robe of homespun wool. He slipped in the library door and, finding a vacant spot that was a bit obscured, shelved his new treasure. He then hurried toward the church as the bell rang for Prime. Bernald gave him a questioning look but made room for him in the procession. 

After the interminable service, Hugo stopped Aziraphale with a hand on his arm. “Brother Erzira,” he stated, “may I have a word with you in the office?” 

Aziraphale meekly followed the prior, ready to offer an apology and do penance for missing two prayers. 

“Erzira,” intoned Hugo, “It has come to my attention that you missed both Matins and Lauds.” 

Aziraphale bowed his head in acquiescence, disregarding the irony that an Angel of the Lord was in this position. 

“Furthermore, you were seen leaving the guesthouse at a most unseemly hour. Did you spend the night in the company of your wealthy acquaintance?” 

At this, Aziraphale raised his eyes and defiantly looked at Hugo. “Yes,” he responded evenly. “I did.” 

“Hmm, I see.” Hugo couldn’t hold the stare. “I _may_ be willing to overlook this indiscretion if you convince your _friend_ to give me, I mean _us_ , a sizable donation…” He let his words trail off. 

Aziraphale said coldly, “I know _exactly_ what you mean. But my friend is not a religious man, at least not like _you_ are. I can’t say how willing he’d be to donate above the fair amount he’s already given for a night’s lodging.” He turned to leave, but felt Hugo’s breath upon his ear as the prior sidled up behind him. 

“You’ll do as I say, _monk_ ,” Hugo hissed. “By the [Rule of Saint Benedict](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rule_of_Saint_Benedict), you owe me absolute obedience!” 

Aziraphale continued to walk, as Hugo followed. “In all lawful things,” the angel retorted, as he stalked out of the office into the muddy outer courtyard and the brightening dawn. Philipp, the young stable boy, was holding Crowley’s stallion as the demon prepared to mount. “Crowley!” Aziraphale called. 

Crowley turned the horse toward Aziraphale and gave a friendly wave. “Hey! Good morning, if you can call it that! Way too early for my taste!” 

The angel suddenly flashed back to the chess game from the previous night. _Your move, Aziraphale._ His opponent had smiled from across the table with genuine and open sincerity. Aziraphale had spent many content nights in the monastery library, but last night was the first he’d been truly _happy_ in quite a while. In fact, the last time had been… 

“Crowley! Give me a hand up!” Aziraphale shouted. The nobleman cantered the black horse toward the humble monk and reached down as Hugo lunged. Aziraphale landed awkwardly behind Crowley and held on tightly to his waist as the demon urged his mount to a gallop. If it hadn’t had rained so hard last night, they would have left Benediktbeuern Abbey behind in a cloud of dust. As it was, they settled for a shower of mud over Brother Hugo. 

 

 

****

 

 

_Royal Albert Hall, The Proms, London, seven hundred and fifty years later_

“Look at this,” said Crowley, pointing to his program notes. “’The manuscript’s content is almost exclusively sensual, irreverent, and rebellious: approximately 300 poems and songs brought together in the most comprehensive and important collection of lyric poetry from the 12th and early 13th centuries. Discovered in 1803 in the library of Benediktbeuern Abbey, the _Codex Buranus_ is the source material for Carl Orff’s influential work for chorus and orchestra, _Carmina Burana._ How the codex found its way to the library is unknown.’” 

Aziraphale patted the demon’s hand, then left it cradled on top. “That evening you came to the monastery, I didn’t even know much I needed to leave. Thank you; that was the true gift you gave me that night. I’m sorry I had to leave the book behind.” Crowley looked at their hands and sighed contentedly. 

“’S alright,” he said. “And I’ll give you Mendelssohn’s [Symphony No. 2](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4378889).” He settled into his seat with anticipatory delight and grinned as the conductor took the podium. “But this one’s for _me._ ”

**Author's Note:**

> Resources:  
> http://www.lordsandladies.org/ Life in the Middle Ages and information about the Crusades  
> http://www.athenapub.com/14carmina.htm Information about _Codex Buranus_  
>  _The Pillars of the Earth_ , historical fiction novel, Ken Follett (1989) Monastic life in the 12-13th century.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MhinC9eVKR4 Video recording of _Carmina Burana_ at Royal Albert Hall, 1994. I selected this one because of the artwork and translated captions. Also, conceivably, Aziraphale and Crowley could have been in attendance at this performance.
> 
> The author performed this work in May 2016.


End file.
